


5 Times Mara Took A Vacation and the 1 Time She Didn't

by JediMordsith



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types
Genre: Comedy of Errors, F/M, Flirting, Fluff, Humor, Jedi baiting, Monsters, bureaucratic nightmares, minor canon typical violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-21
Updated: 2018-11-15
Packaged: 2019-06-13 19:12:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15371415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JediMordsith/pseuds/JediMordsith
Summary: Mara Jade hates vacation. New Republic law requires she take them every year anyway. It goes... badly.





	1. Central Administration

**Author's Note:**

> Nods are due to celinamarniss and KLCtheBookWorm for their fics ( _The Death of the Mighty Jabba Desilijic Tiure_ and _Star Wars: My Home Is You_ , respectively) which got me thinking about New Republic bureaucrats and functionaries and what an absolute *nightmare* Jedi must be for them as they attempt to go about their everyday jobs. This is my contribution to that theme.

The environmental system was on the fritz again. That or Himalia over in Sanitation had had a fight with one of her six spouses for the third time this week and had dialed the relative temperature down to “Hoth” to make everyone else to be as miserable as she was. Sirca Davip shook his head and shivered as he hurried to unlock the shabby file cabinet wedged in the corner of his gloomy basement office.

_At least I won’t have to freeze down here all day,_ he thought. If there was one benefit to getting thrown into the strange, last-minute assignment that had been shoved into his arms last night on his way out the door, it was that he’d get to spend the next two days in the relative respectability and comfort of the cloud-cutter’s upper levels.

There was a slapping sound behind him and, plucking up the data chips he’d need for the day and shoving the cabinet shut again with a hip, Sirca turned around. A shiny silver plasti-pak glinted in the office’s dim light from atop his well-oiled carry-case. Merkak Gorgiou stood on the other side of the scratched and dented desk, arms folded over his chest. As always, the Twi’lek’s tie was askew and clashed wildly with his rumpled tunic.

“Do you ever look in the mirror before you leave your apartment?” Sirca grumbled. “Do you even _own_ a mirror?”

Merkak shrugged. “When you learn to keep the legacy system running the way I do, you can come to work in whatever you want, too.”

Sirca sniffed disapprovingly as he slotted his cards into waiting data pads and tucked them neatly into his case. Everyone knew Merkak and his office-mate were the only reason the legacy system – the remnants of an Old Republic database that had never been fully translated into either the Empire or the New Republic’s revised, integrated mass information systems was accessible as often as it was. The fact that they were both Twi’leks in non-service-sector jobs – and therefore an important contribution to the statistics Ryloth’s Public Image Department was working so hard to promote – bought them a lot of leeway, too, though everyone was too polite to say as much out loud.

“Did you need something?” Sirca asked. Unable to keep smugness from creeping into his voice he added, “I have appointments _upstairs_ today.”

Merkak had the nerve to laugh. “Yeah, I know.” He pointed to the plasti-pak. “That’s why I brought you those.”

“What for?” Sirca picked the pak up and flipped it over.

_Kolzarr’s Stomach Soother!_ The aurabesh on the front exclaimed. _Cures all causes of upset, whether you have one stomach or twenty!_

“You’re scheduled to talk to a _Jedi_ ,” Gorgiou said, exaggerating the last word. “Tarrk says they’re crazier than _Bothans_.”

Having had the misfortune to meet a number of Bothan representatives, Davip was fairly sure that wasn’t possible.

“Tarrk wouldn’t know a Jedi from a Jawa,” he scoffed, shoving the pack aside. “If you’ll _excuse_ me, slacker,” he said, haughtily, “ _I_ have an _appointment_.”

Gorgiou laughed and waltzed out of the office, lekku twitching behind him in mirth. “Good luck, man.”

* * *

 

Davip took the utility lift from subfloor six, where his office was located, to the bustling main lobby of Coruscant’s Central Administration Building. Scurrying across the marble floor, still glistening with fresh wax at this hour, he queued up for one of the elegant but ancient elevators that would take him to the meeting room levels far above.

 As he waited, he wondered idly if the Senate would ever get around to appropriating funds to replace the lumbering monstrosities before they failed and sent a car-load of public visitors plunging to their deaths. Surely the basic infrastructure that kept the Republic running had to more important than **another** statue in the Senate gardens?

After a good four minute wait, he squished himself into one of the heavily decorative lifts. Seen through the frosted transparisteel slats set in the lift’s doors, the Administrative building had an uncanny resemblance to an archeological dig. Each floor was distinct, a brief glimpse into a unique stratum of the New Republic, it’s history, and its inhabitants. The lower floors were redolent in faded Old Republic grandeur, each graced with a unique flavor of elegance or obsequiousness that reflected the particular administrative branch assigned to it. A dozen floors up, things started to fade toward Imperial ascetism, gilt and personalized touches both steadily declining as the lift ascended.

By the time he reached the 28th floor, Davip was solidly in New Republic neglect territory. The lift’s population had thinned out, so there was none of the jostling that accompanied exiting onto lower floors when he stepped out into the clean but largely featureless hall. Checking his data pad again, even though he’d memorized the details of today’s appointment, he took a right and then a left, and then another right. Near the end of the hall, he found his assigned room. Drawing himself up to his fullest (though never impressive) height, he ran a hand over his head-fin nervously and touched the door controls.

“I already promised Talon I wouldn’t kill anyone.” The voice was female and irritated.

“That’s not the same as being _nice_.”

Concern trickled in, but Sirca forced a smile and stepped forward. “Good morning, I am Sirca Davip.”

“Agent Davip,” the man rose, smiling cheerfully, and reached out to shake Davip’s hand. “I’m Luke Skywalker. Thanks for meeting us.”

“It’s an honor,” Sirca tried not to gape or babble. The session notes had mentioned a Jedi might be present, but not _The_ Jedi. He gulped for air and tried not to look flustered. “I mean, ah, the Central Administration lives to serve, Sir. Mister Jedi?” What _was_ the correct form of address for the head of the Jedi Order?

_“Master Skywalker_ ,” the room’s other occupant supplied, rolling her eyes. She made no attempt to rise, leaning back in her chair, arms folded across her chest and lips pursed.

Skywalker shot her a reproving look that would have had Sirca gibbering apologies in an instant. The woman appeared unmoved.

Isaklonians didn’t generally share human standards when it came to attractiveness, but he’d picked up enough from his coworkers to note somewhat clinically that her form, while too lean and pale to do anything for him, would rate as highly desirable to many species. She was well-dressed in the sense that her clothing was well-made and tailored to her, though it was utilitarian in style. A green tunic, black leather pants, a cropped black jacket. Her hair registered as an odd grey-ish hue, which suggested that it was actually some shade of true red, which his eyes, evolved for more aquatic environments, never properly translated to his brain.

It was her expression and body language, however, that were most striking. Contrary to popular belief, Republic Administrative Agents, particularly those who specialized in New Republic Insurance Law, like Davip, had no illusions about just how unenthusiastic most beings were to receive a summons or otherwise find themselves with business in the Central Administration Building.

This woman, however, took _unenthusiastic_ to previously unimagined levels. For some reason he couldn’t quite pinpoint, her posture and dour expression made him break out in a rare cold sweat.

“Please just call me Luke,” Skywalker said. “And this is Trader Mara Jade.” 

“Ah, yes,” Davip regrouped, setting his case on the table on unlatching it. “May I offer either of you -.”

“I brought my own,” Mara interrupted, pointing to an enormous travel mug in front of her on the table. “NR caff tastes like bantha -.”

“We’re _fine_ , thank you,” Luke cut her off, offering another smile. He gestured to a water bulb in front of his own place. “This is not our first circus. We came prepared.”

“Oh, good.” Having set his supplies up in neat piles in front of him, Sirca eyed them and then nudged one until it was precisely straight. Pulling out his favorite stylus, he picked up the furthest data pad on the left and punched in his code. “Now,” he said, lifting his gaze to his visitors. “I’m afraid the agent originally assigned to your case became unavailable last minute, so I haven’t had the chance to completely review all of the information you submitted. I did read the summary you provided – that was thoughtful, thank you – but I confess I’m still not entirely sure I understand -.”

Jade leaned forward so swiftly that Sirca jerked back, startled.

“I never want to take another vacation again.” Every word was pointed and succinct.

“I… I’m sorry?” Davip stammered.

“You should be.” Jade sniffed, sitting back again.

“She doesn’t mean that the way it sounded,” Skywalker interjected, quickly, casting a nettled look at his companion.

Sirca saw nothing on Jade’s unimpressed expression to support that assertion.  

“What she _meant_ ,” Skywalker continued before she could voice an opinion, “was that it is a rather specific New Republic law that’s been causing her difficulty – which is why we’re here. We’re hoping you can provide her with an exemption.”

Sirca felt his muzzle wrinkle at the suggestion. “Exemptions are extremely rare, Master Skywalker. I’m sure you understand -.”

“ _You_ don’t understand,” Jade interrupted, stabbing a finger in his direction. “I have been buried alive, slimed, incarcerated -.”

“ _Mara_ ,” the Jedi cut her off, one hand rising to press her hand down as gingerly as if it were a weapon. “Why don’t we let Agent Davip follow due process _without_ unnecessary commentary? I’m sure things will go faster that way.”

The two exchanged a very long, very intense look. Davip shifted uneasily in his chair. Were the rumors true? Could Jedi influence minds? Read them? It certainly seemed Master Skywalker did something to Trader Jade’s mind, because she huffed once and snatched her cup off the table.

“Fine. Carry on, Agent.” Jade took a swig from her mug and proceeded to glower at Skywalker over its rim.

The Jedi gave him an encouraging nod.

Somewhat reassured by the Jedi’s calm, Davip scrolled down to the first form assigned to this case on his data pad.

“The issue appears to have begun five standard years ago, is that correct?”

“Yes.” Jade’s response was terse, but adequate.

Feeling slightly more in control, Davip continued. “Could one of you please describe for me what happened, and how it relates to your request? Just so I can verify the details on record are correct, you understand,” he added quickly. People hated to feel like they’d done flimseywork for nothing.

“You’re familiar with the Thrawn Campaign?” Jedi Skywalker asked. “It all started just after that…”


	2. Spira

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luke and Mara recount Jade's first disastrous vacation on Spira.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks are owed to Frangi, who suggested a couple of the points that show up in this chapter. : )

“Mara’s boss, Captain Karrde, had picked up several large New Republic contracts, and Mara had been put in charge of the Smuggler’s Alliance. So they’d had to adapt to NR regulations all around.”

Sirca’s muzzle scrunched. “I’m sorry, Master Skywalker. Ms. Jade was -.”

“ _Trader_ Jade.” The woman did not lean forward, but spitted him with a fierce stare.

Flustered by the red-head’s glare, Davip stammered. “Ah, yes, sorry. _Trader_ Jade. You were – you _ran_ the Smuggler’s Alliance?”

“Yes.” Her eyes narrowed sharply. “You have a problem with that?”

“Oh, no!” Sirca said quickly. “Just – just, uh, making sure I have all the details correct, you understand.” In truth, he couldn’t image how such a tiny woman had handled the riffraff that must surely have populated the SA. He’d never actually met a smuggler, of course – his parents would have been _horrified_ if he’d kept the kind of company that exposed him to such elements – but he had it on good authority from a number of docu-dramas that they were hulking, brutish and barely sentient. Certainly not the type to respect a smaller, more vulnerable being. Perhaps she had just been a figurehead? 

 _“As I was saying,”_ Skywalker picked up again, determinedly, “Mara had to start taking vacations when Karrde brought his business into compliance with the Alliance’s regulations for contractors.”

“Which are absurd,” Jade opined with a sniff, scowling at Davip as if she held him personally responsible. “I had six standard weeks to make up for and you made me take another _two_.”

“Time spent confined to a med center for injuries received on the job is allocated to medical leave, not vacation,” Skywalker reproved.

“Stop parroting Karrde,” Jade sniped, before rounding on Davip again. “And whose brilliant idea was it to deny hard working individuals the right to sell their leave back to their employers? That was standard Imperial protocol for _decades_. I could have had my own ship by now if -.”

“That wasn’t a benefit, it was a manipulative tool the Empire used to work people into the ground,” Luke interrupted her, taking a sip from his water bulb. “And you could’ve afforded your own ship two years ago if you weren’t so picky.”

Jade snorted. “You mean if I was like Solo? Happy to just fly around in a floating junk heap held together with spacer’s tape?”

“The _Falcon_ has dozens of custom upgrades,” Skywalker defended. “Just… not to the exterior. Han likes to be able to blend in places – not stand out when he wants to go undercover.”

“Undercover?” Jade laughed. “The man’s married to a Princess and has three Force-sensitive wildlings at home. Half the beings in the galaxy want to kill him and the other half want his autograph. He hasn’t gone undercover since the Katana fleet disaster.”

“I – I’m sorry,” Davip looked between the two, increasingly confused. “Let me be sure I understand. Trader Jade, you didn’t want to take vacation because you were trying to save credits to buy a ship?”

“I didn’t want to take vacation because they’re _terrible_ ,” Jade corrected, irritably.

“They don’t _have_ to be.” Skywalker sighed. “Can we just get back to going through the report like he asked?”

Jade made a careless “whatever” motion with one hand and lifted her caff mug back to her lips with the other.

“Karrde felt it was best if Mara was physically off-site for her vacation to avoid any appearance of impropriety,” Master Skywalker continued. He cast a glance at Jade that Davip couldn’t interpret. “As it happened, one of her co-workers had won a trip for two to Spira and was perfectly happy to take Mara as his plus-one.”

Sirca refrained from pointing out that relationships between coworkers wasn’t a particularly good appearance to encourage either. After all, it hadn’t been the Jedi’s idea – he was just faithfully recounting the smugglers’ ignorance of good business practices. Instead, he nodded to show he was following.

“I’m told Spira is quite beautiful.” He glanced at his data pad. “You were there, too, were you not, Master Skywalker?”

“I was,” the Jedi grimaced slightly. “I’d been invited to give a talk about kyber crystals’ potential role in energy production and the possible economic ramifications. The conference was… extremely academic. But the scenery was lovely.”

“Yes, the inside of your windowless meeting room was _very_ tastefully done,” Jade rolled her eyes and wiggled a finger at his chest. “And your fluorescent yellow ‘Hello, My Name Is Luke Skywalker’ nametag matched your desert hermit getup _perfectly_.”

“It was a formal event!” Skywalker glowered at Jade. “Traditional Jedi robes were _necessary_. It was a sign of respect.”

“The conference was at a beach-side resort. You could have justified a Versatex.” Jade raised her eyebrows pointedly and took another swig of caff. “I bet you’d have had everyone’s _rapt_ attention for your speech.”

Sirca choked on the mental image of the venerable Jedi wearing one of the microscopically small, skin-tight pairs of swimming thongs that were all the rage in Imperial circles.

“My talk went _fine_ ,” Skywalker flushed. “And even a Versatex would have covered more than that zoosha concoction _you_ were wearing.”

“That damn zoosha – do you know how much I owed Shada after that kriffing leech ruined it?”

“ _Language_ ,” the Jedi admonished.

“Leech?” Sirca’s voice rose unintentionally on the word, his reptilian skin crawling at the idea. “There were leeches? On Spira?”

“It was an eel,” Skywalker explained, quickly. “It was – let’s just backtrack a moment, shall we? If _someone_ -,” he speared Jade with a look, “would stop _interrupting_ -.”

“I’m helping,” Jade said. Her tone was positively sugary. “Adding detail. For the report.”

The Jedi Master gave her the most supremely non-plussed expression Davip had ever seen. “Thank you,” he said, flatly. He turned back to Davip. “I’m sorry, where were we?”

Davip glanced down at his notes. They made no sense. He flipped over to the official report. Darted his eyes back and forth between them a few times trying to get his bearings.  “You, ah… were both on Spira?” he hazarded, finally.

“Right.” Skywalker regrouped quickly. “I stepped outside for some fresh air during one of the breaks and ran into Mara.” His eyes cut to Jade, then quickly returned his eyes to Davip. “Dressed for swimming.”

“I borrowed a swimsuit from a coworker,” Jade put in, haughtily. “I was already losing valuable time taking the damn vacation – I wasn’t spending money on leisure wear I’d never wear again besides.”

Skywalker ignored that. “I was pleased to see her, of course – Mara and I never seem to get a chance to see each other when the galaxy isn’t imploding. I thought maybe we could have dinner together.”

Davip’s brow wrinkled. “I don’t think I saw that in the report.”

“That’s because it didn’t happen,” Jade said bluntly. “He couldn’t shake his fan club.”

The Jedi looked pained. “I slipped back out to meet her at the end of the conference’s closing ceremony but, uh, some of the other attendees… followed me. Then someone ordered drinks and food and, well…”

“His speech was _so_ impressive,” Jade snickered. “They trailed him around like Nusito pups, hanging on his every word.”

“Like you didn’t have your own entourage,” Skywalker grumbled.

Davip blinked. If he didn’t know better, he’d have described the Jedi’s tone as … jealous. But that was ludicrous, of course.

“Those,” Jade said primly, “were professional companions. Making me business offers.”

The Jedi made a disgruntled sound. Of course, he would. Everyone knew Jedi were celibate. The idea of such obscene and carnal behavior must have been an affront to his enlightened senses.

“Anyway,” Jade said, blithely, “It’s not like I could take any of them back to my room with me - I was sharing a suite with Ghent. He’d have been traumatized. Like I was the next day.” She aimed another withering look in Davip’s direction.

He slunk a little lower in his chair. “That would be the, oh, ah… cruise. Yes?”

“ _Traumatized_ is a little strong, don’t you think?” Skywalker was staring at Jade again with that intent look that made Sirca wonder if he was influencing her mind somehow.

“Not at all.” Jade jutted her chin out obstinately.

Skywalker set his jaw and pointedly returned to his story. “There were small pleasure boats that took resort visitors around a handful of the nearby islands.”

Davip nodded. That had been in the report.

“There was fishing and marine life watching – it was quite nice.”

“I particularly liked the view we got _directly down the throat of a camray eel_ ,” Jade sneered.

The report Sirca had read the night before had linked to an official holo-net description of camray eels. The creatures’ giant, fearsome snouts had been alarming, even in the detached, professional assessment of the mini-documentary. Unhinged maws lined with razor-sharp teeth loomed under beady eyes. Massive, snake-ish bodies rippled with muscle and broad, sinuous fins. His stomach knotted at the mere idea of meeting one face-to-face.

“I didn’t get to that part yet,” Skywalker said smoothly, not looking at her. “As I noted in the report, Mara and I were in the stern of the boat -.”

“ _Still_ surrounded by his fan club,” Jade piped up.

“- when there was a… disturbance, in the water.”

Davip hurriedly flicked through his files. “I remember this part,” he said, excitedly. “A depth charge, was it not?”

“It was,” Luke shook his head, disapproval plain on his face. “We found out later a big-game hunter had bribed one of the ship’s crew to drop it over the side just as the vessel reached the salt trench along the ocean floor where the eels like to sleep. He wanted to take home a trophy.”

“Except the supocevle brought the wrong kind of harpoon,” Jade grunted in disgust.

“ _Mara._ This is going on the record. You can’t swear in formal interviews!”

“But he brought a _smart-harpoon_ ,” Jade slammed her mug on the fiberplast table with a crack. “Any _itiohu_ should know you need a _boarding harpoon_ for something that size and composition!”

Davip opened his mouth, then closed it again, too intimidated to mention that he hadn’t realized there was more than one kind of harpoon.

“He _deserved_ to get fried like an Endorian chicken.”

“ _Mara._ ”

Jade ignored the Jedi and leaned forward, her face flushed with annoyance. “Have you ever seen a smart harpoon?” she demanded.

“No,” Sirca squeaked.

“It’s electrified,” the Trader announced. “It hits the water and BAM -,” her hand smacked the table.

Davip jumped so hard he nearly fell out of his chair.

“The whole surface lights up for a three-meter radius. You fall in, you’re roasted. Charred as over-cooked ribenes.” She flopped back in her seat, smugly.

Davip’s already knotted stomach rolled. He was immediately and fervently grateful that all the holos included in the report had come from SpirSec’s investigation after the fact. Most had focused on the damage to the trawler. Anything graphic had been censored and he’d elected not to view the original, un-redacted content. 

Master Skywalker rubbed his forehead with his thumb and two fingers as if he were developing a headache. “Camray eels are exceedingly territorial,” he told Davip. “Understandably, once it had been attacked, the being felt the need to defend itself and its home.”

“It tried to eat us,” Jade said, bluntly.

“It was _scared_.” 

“It was pissed,” she countered, piqued. “And it destroyed the boat to make sure we knew it. If you had let me kill it promptly instead of trying to make friends -.”

“I wasn’t _making friends_ , I was trying to calm it with the Force. You know I had to try!” Skywalker protested. “It could have had young nearby! Or a mate! It deserved a chance -.”

“To eat us?” Jade demanded, irate. “The detonator would have taken it out instantly. It wouldn’t even have known what hit it!”

“Detonator?” Davip ventured, meekly. “There was a detonator?”

“Not exactly, but I could have made one from the back-up bilge pump in three minutes,” Jade said confidently.

Sirca’s eyes widened in fascinated horror. _Who is this woman?!_

“We didn’t need to kill it,” Skywalker asserted, firmly.

“No, of course not,” Jade said, sarcasm dripping from her words. “Spending three days buried alive in an inaccessible cave was _so_ much better.”

“About that,” Davip asked, genuinely curious. “How did you end up in the cave? The report was not specific on that point.”

Jade tipped her head at the Jedi, wicked amusement on her face. “Yes, _Skywalker_ ,” she purred. “Tell the nice agent how that happened, exactly.”

Skywalker’s lips pursed. “I don’t think that’s important,” he said, decisively. “Is it, Agent Davip?”

Davip blinked. “Ah, no – no, of course not, Master Skywalker.” It wasn’t, was it? He didn’t think so. What were they talking about again?

Jade snorted. “What matters,” she said, bringing Sirca’s attention back around, “is that I had to spend three days trapped in an underwater cave with _him.”_ She jerked a thumb in the Jedi’s direction. “Wearing nothing but a half-shredded zoosh and eating improvised sushi before the authorities could be bothered to dig us out.”

“I offered you my robes repeatedly,” the Jedi reminded her, clearly irked. “You didn’t _have_ to run around mostly naked.”

“It was _traumatic_ ,” Jade declared, dramatically. “And entirely the New Republic’s fault.”

Skywalker rolled his eyes in an extremely un-Jedi-like motion, then glanced at his wrist chrono. “Would you mind if we broke for lunch a little early? I’m starving.” He pinned Jade with a look. “And I’d like to talk to Mara before we continue.”

 _Continue?_ With dawning horror, Sirca realized that they’d just spent the last three hours reviewing a _single_ incident in the Trader’s five-incident report. His hand scrabbled in his bag for the stomach-soothers.

“I think that’s an excellent idea,” he said, weakly. “Please – take as much time as you like.”

“I’m fine to keep going.” Trader Jade reached into a cargo pocket on her thigh and produced what appeared from its wrapper to be an ancient, Imperial-issue ration bar. “I brought lunch.”

Standing determinedly, Skywalker plucked the bar from her fingers and shoved it into his robes somewhere. “Come on, Jade.” Tucking a hand under her elbow, he propelled her out of her seat and toward the door. “Real food. _Now._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Versatex is a thin, water-wicking fabric in the GFFA verse. In case it wasn't clear, I'm using it as the in-universe equivalent to Speedos, here. 
> 
> Zoosh is another type of fabric with a reputation for going see-through in some circumstances. I'm pretending for the purposes of this fic that Shada Du'kal joined Karrde's organization about the same time Mara did.


	3. The Kuari Princess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mara Jade hates vacation, meditation, and bad haute cuisine. But she loves acidthrowers, Jedi baiting, and caff.

Sirca skipped lunch, opting instead to eat the stomach soothers like candy. He was _fairly_ certain that it wasn’t possible to overdose on them. While he chewed the minty lozenges, he skimmed ahead to the next incident outlined in the affidavit. Flipping through the holos provided, he gaped.

“Got a head start, I see.” Trader Jade appeared soundlessly at his elbow, seemingly from nowhere. “Great reading, isn’t it?”

Davip jolted, then darted to organize his space. “Oh! I, ah, just wanted to -,” he stammered, immensely relieved when Master Skywalker stepped in. He was looking down, closing up his comm link. Jade somehow managed to be on the other side of the table, sliding innocently into her seat by the time the Jedi looked up and gave Sirca a concerned glance.

“Did you eat?” he asked. “We could have brought you something back. Or taken more time, if you needed.”

“Oh, no!” Sirca conjured what he hoped was a convincing smile. “I brought something and was quite happy to stay here, thank you, Master Skywalker.”

The Jedi considered him for a moment. “All right.” He walked behind Jade and reclaimed his own seat. “Are we ready to pick up again?”

“Yes, thank you,” Sirca nodded. “We are on Incident Two, now, I believe. The _Kuari Princess_?”

“Right,” Luke tugged at the bottom of his tunic and settled in. “The place we stayed at on Spira was owned and operated by the Tourist Guild. They were a little horrified to find out two semi-public figures -.”

“He means a New Republic _war hero,_ ” Jade interrupted.

“-had had such a terrible experience -.”

“Traumatizing,” Jade corrected, archly.

Skywalker shot her what was clearly intended to be a warning look. “At one of their facilities,” he finished. “They offered us tickets to the _Kuari Princess_ the following year to make up for it.”

“They were afraid he’d leave a terrible review and ruin their business,” Jade said, bluntly.  “It was a bribe.”

Personally, Sirca thought it was a superb bribe.

“Mara,” Skywalker said, pointedly. “We talked about this.”

Jade huffed. “Fine. They tried to make Spira up to us by giving us deluxe suites on the Bazaar Deck.”

“Near the Imperial.” Sirca consulted his data pad, picking out the name of the _Princess’s_ renowned restaurant. “Rated at Five-Quasars by Chokee  & Chokee!” he added, impressed. Five quasar restaurants weren’t uncommon on Coruscant, of course, but he wouldn’t make enough money in his lifetime to eat at one.  

“Worst fodu in green fire sauce I’ve ever had in my life,” Jade summarily dismissed. “ _Disgraceful._ ” She shook her head. “I personally commed the head of Chokee’s to report it when the whole debacle was over.”

Skywalker gave her a baffled look that Sirca imagined matched his own.

“Mara, the restaurant was destroyed.”

“I know, I was there,” she shot back in a patronized tone. “But if you overlook that kind of laxness, you’re complicit. And _I_ have no intention of being complicit in tainting the galaxy -.”

“You eat ration bars older than we are!” Skywalker interrupted, incredulously.

“That,” Jade explained matter-of-factly, “is because I’m a connoisseur. The older vintages age like wine,” she expounded, her expression sliding toward gravely serious. “Not like the new Alliance-issue ones full of gank filler. The flavors don’t go rancid – they just get more depth.”

For a moment, both men just stared at her.

“I - I’m sorry,” the Jedi turned to Davip, finally, his expression contorting. “What were we discussing?”

“Um…” At a loss, Sirca glanced down, passed the Imperial -, “you were near the Estuan? The theater?” 

Jade’s nose crinkled and her lips twisted in vitriolic disgust. “Gamorrean opera should be classified as a war crime.”

Davip tried for about two seconds to imagine how one would even approximate anything remotely resembling opera with solely Gamorrean speech and promptly abandoned the line of inquiry in horror.

Even Skywalker looked pained a moment at the memory. Then, brightening, he said, “we were near the meditation chambers. That was thoughtful.”

“ _Ugh._ ” Jade groaned and snatched up her over-sized caff mug, hiding her grimace with a long, bracing gulp.

She seemed to have refilled the container over lunch and Sirca wondered briefly if it wasn’t hazardous to humans’ health to consume that much of a heavily caffeinated beverage in a single standard day.

“They were extremely well appointed,” Skywalker reproached, pursing his lips. “Which you’d _know_ if you spent more than two minutes in one of them.”

“Vacation was punishment enough!” she complained.

“Meditation is not punishment,” Skywalker retorted, implacably. “It’s a foundational skill that grounds a being to -.”

“Save it,” Jade cut him off, flatly. “The location of our rooms,” she informed Davip, tapping a fingertip commandingly on the table, “is only important in that it kept us from finding out what was going on soon enough to save the ship.”

“Right.” Sirca grabbed a second datapad, pulled up a schematic of the _Kuari Princess_ and turned it sideways to expand the size of the diagram. “Problems started on the crew deck, yes?”

“It’s impossible to know for sure,” Skywalker shook his head. “But evidence points to that, yes.”

Sirca reread a portion of the official report. “According to the lead investigator, one of the crewers had been hired last minute from a yacht whose last port of call had been Nim Drovis. He may have carried the original source of contamination aboard unintentionally.”

“There was also a shipment of medical supplies aboard picked up from the Sector Medical Center on Nim Drovis.” Jade took another swig of caff. “Could have come on with that, if someone was careless.”

Davip cocked his head. “That’s not in the report.”

“I know.” She flashed him a small, disconcertingly calculating smirk.

“ _How_ do you know?” he asked, befuddled.

“Trade secret.”

Sirca blinked. Then blinked again. Then looked at Skywalker for help.

“Regardless of how it got on board,” the Jedi said helpfully, “everyone agrees the problem started in the crew level. Probably deep on the aft side, where the lowest-ranking crewers were bunked.”

“Which,” Jade scowled, “was conveniently located near a central ductwork access point.”

“Which means,” Skywalker nodded, “that when the crewer first realized he had a problem and tried to handle it – probably by himself, quietly, so as not to damage his reputation – he inadvertently just drove the mold into the duct system.”

“That was what caused the first environmental problems,” Davip referenced the report. “On the second day out.”

“Right, but we didn’t know about those right away,” Skywalker explained. “The upper decks had backup systems that kicked in to keep everything running without any hiccups.”

“Skywalker spent the first three days meditating and signing autographs in complete peace,” Jade said, with a disparaging grimace.

“I did not sign autographs,” the Jedi glared at her. “And at least I was being healthy and sociable. Did you even leave your cabin in the first 72 hours?”

“Of course I did!” Jade shot back, indignantly. “I won a quarter of a million credits at Xerrol’s gambling tables while you were getting your beauty sleep every night. Not that the Trade Guild ever paid up,” she grumbled.

“You destroyed their ship,” Skywalker pointed out.

“Not my fault,” she said, immediately, then shrugged. “At least I got to enjoy the clothing-optional zero-g sauna during Happy Hour a few times before it all went to hell.” She gave the Jedi a sly wink. “Did you know that Tetran Cowall has a -.”

“No.” The Jedi cut her off sharply. “And I don’t want to.”

Sirca had to bite his tongue and press himself back into his chair to keep from blurting out _oh, gods, what – tell me?!_ His sister had posters of Tetran Cowall plastered all over her walls and gushed over the holo-star every chance she got. First-hand reports of his less-than-fully-clothed body would be terrific currency, but Skywalker had turned pointedly toward him and Sirca made himself sit still and keep his professional face on.

 “The first we knew of a problem was when the wallball courts and the pool on the recreation deck closed. I’d challenged Mara to a game -.”

“I’d have _pasted_ him.”

“- and she agreed. But when we got there, the entire space was sealed off. So was the pool we passed on our way over. The signs and guard droids were polite and apologetic, but nebulous as to the cause or any anticipated re-open point.” He shook his head. “We had no idea that entire _deck_ would be off limits by the next morning.”

“The report says you spent that evening in the Bistro?” Sirca verified.

“Skywalker took me dancing.”

For a fleeting moment, Davip thought Jade looked almost wistful.

“I stepped on your feet three times,” the Jedi winced. “But the Graf-Spanners were really good.”

“Glitzband,” Jade clarified, all traces of emotion gone. “Now deceased. The food was only fair but they had an excellent Oseon brandy so, all things considered, it was a good night.” She sipped her caff again, her expression sliding toward something absent and elsewhere.

Skywalker snuck a peek in her direction, something that might have been surprise flashing across his face. Jade’s head snapped toward him, her eyes going sharp and narrow. The Jedi’s expression went back to politely neutral so fast Davip thought he might have imagined the whole thing.  

“We headed back to our respective rooms around 2300,” Skywalker said, quickly. “I was across the hall and two rooms down from Mara. About 0230 I woke up to the sound of alarms going off and pounding on my door.”

“The refugees from Homthor and Welland decks?” Sirca asked, flipping forward in his report.

The Jedi nodded, a disturbed expression crossing his face. “It was terrible. So much fear and suffering.”

“He doesn’t have the Force, Skywalker,” Trader Jade interjected, sternly. “Stick to the material facts. With access to the enormous quantity of water in the pool and sauna mist system on the recreation deck, the Drovian mold’s growth escalated. Bigger size, more strength. Somewhere on the third evening, while we were in the Bistro, it burned through all the barriers the crew had put in place to contain it – and through the floors.”

“Homthor deck went first,” Skywalker picked up, grimly. “Welland right after. A lot of beings didn’t make it out.”

“Those that did,” Jade continued for him, “went up – onto Lido and Bazaar decks. The crew sent all the droids they could find down to try to mitigate the damage and protect the engineering deck. Without them, they couldn’t control the crowds.”

Rapt and aghast, Sirca momentarily forgot the he had read the entire report – was holding a copy – and gasped, “what did you do?”

Jade looked pointedly at the report and then rolled her eyes. Sirca flushed. The effect wasn’t nearly as pronounced on his skin as it would have been on a human’s but that didn’t make it less mortifying. He was a _professional_.  

“I went looking for Mara,” Skywalker said at once, as if he hadn’t noticed. “She wasn’t in her room.”

“Nobody near my room knew anything,” Jade said, impatiently. “I went to get answers.”

“You got entrance to the bridge,” Sirca remembered.

Jade snorted. “They were a little too busy to put up much resistance. I helped myself to the sensor readings – that’s how I found out it was a carnivorous mold, and how much of the ship was already borked.”

“ _Language_ ,” Skywalker chided, exasperation showing. He sighed. “By the time I got up to the bridge, Mara was already gone. I convinced the Captain to issue the evacuation order.” He frowned. “He was worried about the fallout from his superiors, but there wasn’t any help for it. I headed back out to try to help the crew get survivors into escape pods.”   

Sirca felt slightly queasy. “I… didn’t read that section in detail,” he admitted. “I understand there were… bodies?”

“Bits of them,” Jade said matter-of-factly. “Carnivorous molds are messy eaters. They don’t tend to take a whole body. Usually they start with an extremity – fingers, toes, tentacles -.”

“There were a lot of wounded,” Skywalker interrupted.

Sirca sagged in relief at being spared additional detail.

“Once we started getting people out, word spread and the crew and I were able to get a little more order into the process. That’s how I found out where to find Mara.”  

“And you went to her?” Sirca asked. He knew the answer, but _knowing_ a fact and wrapping one’s head around it could be two very different things.

“He was jealous,” Jade said, smugly. She tipped her mug back, then glowered at it as if it had personally affronted her family honor before smacking it back onto the table.

Sirca assumed she had somehow managed to empty it a second time. Again, he briefly worried for her health. Then the Jedi opened his mouth again and Sirca forgot the caff.

“I was not.”

The Jedi’s protest was laughably unconvincing.

“Right,” Jade scoffed. “Skywalker, you looked at my acidthrower the way a Gorax eyes a wonkling.”

“You know I hate that phrase.”

“And I hate spear-toting teddy bears who babble gibberish and try to steal everything not nailed down,” she retorted. “The point is that I had an acidthrower and I was doing a damn fine job of subduing the slime when you showed up.”

“Mara, you were torching the ship.”

“And the slime was melting through it – it was a lost cause anyway,” she insisted. “You can’t kill Drovian slime with any weapon that won’t also take out metal – it’s chemically impossible.”

 “Where,” Sirca spoke up meekly, “did you get an acidthrower on a commercial cruise liner?”

“I made one,” she told him, proudly.

Sirca was speechless. Skywalker closed his eyes, a longsuffering expression falling over his face.

“High end commercial kitchens,” Jade explained, clearly warming to her subject, “come standard with enzyme vats and specialized gene-splicers for manipulating insects into designer delicacies. So I just picked the most reactive enzymes, popped them in the gene splicer, hit a few buttons and then went to find a housekeeping droid.”

“A housekeeping droid?”

“An MR-9,” she specified. “One of the only droids that hadn’t been pressed into service in the lower levels because it couldn’t be programmed to do anything helpful. But I didn’t reprogram it – I rewired its suction system to project, instead. Then used space tape to connect its feed line to a tank filled with my spliced enzymes and -.” She made a grand gesture. “Melted.”

“She means _everything_ ,” Skywalker murmured, not opening his eyes. “The walls, the floors, chunks of ceiling.”

“I was being _thorough_ ,” Jade retorted.

“You nearly got yourself killed!” The Jedi’s eyes opened at that. “You were disintegrating everything between yourself and the escape pods. If I hadn’t -.”

“I had an exit plan!” Jade sat up sharply, affronted. “I knew exactly what I was doing! You didn’t have to interfere -.”

“I saved -.”

“You _interrupted_ -.”

“You both made it out alive,” Sirca said, somewhat more loudly than he’d intended. The both stopped and looked at him. He blanched. “You – I mean – _obviously_ – the important thing -.”

“You’re right, of course.” Skywalker’s face smoothed back into calm with disconcerting speed. “We were the last to get out, but we got to an escape pod and made it out safely – nothing more than minor burns, that I was able to heal with the Force.”

Jade snorted and grumbled something that sounded like “training exercise.”

It didn’t make any sense to Sirca and the Jedi ignored her.  

“The ship, unfortunately, was lost.”

“Which the Trade Guild used as an excuse not to pay out my gambling winnings,” Mara reminded them. “Which means that, once again, my supposedly ‘free’ vacation cost me an unreasonable amount. _And_ I was banned from ever setting foot on a Trade Guild property again. I’ve had to go to two Trade Symposiums since _in disguise_!”

Technically, the contents of these interviews were classified, but Sirca wondered if he didn’t have some kind of obligation to tell the Trade Guild that their properties were still regularly in mortal danger. Before he could decide, a chrono beeped. Immense relief washed over him.

“That’s the time,” he said, trying for apology and not quite making it. “We’ll have to pick up tomorrow.”

Skywalker offered him a small, kind smile. “We’ll be here. Thank you for your time.”

Jade just stood up, grabbed her caff mug and stalked out.

Sirca puttered with his things until they’d both left the room, then lingered a bit longer, ensuring they’d both be well out of the building before he ventured toward the lifts, stacks of datapads clutched to his chest. He hastily put everything away and then headed directly toward the _Azure Dianoga_ cantina.

He needed a drink. In fact, tonight, he decided, he needed two.

 _No,_ he told himself, sternly, as the train pulled into his stop. _You have to work tomorrow. You shouldn’t indulge._

Work. With the Jedi and Trader Jade. Again.

Sliding into the booth where several of coworkers were already waiting, Sirca cued up the drink menu and ordered not one, not two but _three_ mugs of keela.


	4. Doruuma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merkak had been right. Jedi were crazier than Bothans.

While waiting for the ancient turbolift, Sirca tore into one of the packages of stomach soothers he’d picked up on his way in. By the time he’d stepped off on his floor, he’d eaten half of them. He paused outside the lift to swallow down a handful of low-dose pain pills for his headache. He _really_ shouldn’t have had so much to drink.

Stashing all the pills back in his bag, he hurried his steps. He was running late but if he rushed he could still just make it.

“Rough night?” Jade drawled when he scuttled in. She lounged in her chair, boots propped on the table, her enormous mug stationed in front of her again. A florid blue and purple bruise stained her left cheek from just beneath her cheekbone to the lower rim of her eye.

“No, no – just a – I think I consumed something that didn’t agree with me.” Sirca ducked his head, fussing with the arrangement of his data pads and opening files. “You, um, had a difficult evening, yourself?”

“Not at all,” she said breezily. “Dinner out with friends,” she took a sip of caff. “Very relaxing.”

Sirca glanced up, making sure he hadn’t somehow imagined the bruise. He definitely hadn’t. But Jade _did_ inexplicably look much more at ease than she had the previous afternoon. Confused, he let his eyes slide over to the Jedi’s empty seat.

“Skywalker will be along,” Jade waved at the empty chair. “He’s out saving the galaxy again.”

Sirca squinted at her slightly, wishing he hadn’t downed that third keela the night before. Was she joking? She seemed perfectly serious, but surely if the galaxy had been in danger it would have been all over the holonet… wouldn’t it? He decided it was safest not to try to guess.

“Did you wish to wait for him to arrive before we begin?” The idea of sitting in a room with her, silent and waiting, made him quail but it was procedure to ask. And he was a _professional_.

Jade shook her head. “Better just start. Force only knows how long he’ll be.”

“Of course.” Sirca looked at his materials. “This morning we are discussing your third vacation. You went to Doruuma?”

“Tried to.” Jade’s expression twisted in distaste. “The Trade Guild’s main competitors heard about the _Kuari Princess_ disaster and thought they could leverage it by offering Skywalker and me free stays at one of their resorts. Our schedules didn’t line up, so he was due to both come in and leave a week after I did.”

“Giving you a week overlap,” Sirca referenced his report. “But that is not what happened.”

“Oh, he came in when he was supposed to,” Jade picked up her mug and took a swig.

“But you were not there,” Davip clarified.

“No,” she replied, dryly. “I was on the second moon.”

Sirca waited. When nothing more was forthcoming, he asked, cringing, “in prison?”

“That’s what they called it,” she snorted. “ _Di’kuts._ Medium security. Barely counts, if you ask me.”

Davip couldn’t imagine a suitable reply.

“It was a misunderstanding.”

Sirca dropped his eyes to his report, then looked back up at her. “You checked two bags through security full of weapons and gear of a questionable nature,” he said, bewildered. “Some of it extremely illegal.”

The Trader’s lips curled in disgust. “The resort advertised itself as exercising the ‘utmost discretion.’ _Apparently_ , it didn’t actually understand the definition of the phrase.”

Davip had no idea what could possibly constitute a suitable reply to that, either.

_Stick to the report,_ he told himself, sneaking one hand into his bag and feeling around for the rest of his stomach soothers. _Just… just follow protocol._

“Authorities confiscated your things,” he managed, relying on the list of facts he was supposed to verify to guide him. “And shipped you to the Ruuma II complex.”

“I got everything back,” Jade informed him. Her expression was… bizarrely satisfied, he thought. “It was the first vacation I left with the same belongings I started with.”

“Um, that’s…good?”

“There was plenty of entertainment, too,” she continued. She lifted a hand, ticking things off her fingers. “There were fights to bet on, I broke out at least once per guard rotation, and the inmates worked through the Skywalker holoporn boxed every day.”

Sirca felt his skin go hot. “The… pardon?”

“The boxed set,” she repeated, cheerfully.  “ _Luke Skywalker and the Zombie Hookers of Halthor, the Nymphomaniac Nuns of G'aav'aar'oon, the Chainsaw Cheerleaders of the Chu’unthor,_ and the bonus disk _The Training of a Jedi. Zombie hookers_ is a classic,” she lectured, then waffled her hand back and forth. “Cheerleaders is only okay. Nuns is particularly hysterical if you pay attention to the costuming gaffs. _Training_ is just _stuffed_ with technical inaccuracies, but it appeals to a certain aesthetic.” She lifted her eyebrows meaningfully over the rim of her mug as she took another gulp. “If you know what I mean.”

He didn’t. At all.

He was still floundering helplessly when the door opened.

“Sorry I’m late,” Skywalker sounded harried. “I had to – are you all right?” He made a beeline for Jade. “What happened?”

Sirca discretely examined the Jedi’s torn and dirty robe as he leaned over Jade. She slapped his hand away as he reached to probe her cheek. “Sit down, Skywalker. You look worse than I do.”

“I was dealing with a nest of rhakghouls someone found in the lower levels,” he replied, a little testily.

“And you didn’t invite me?” Jade looked appalled. “I thought we were friends!”

“Clearly you weren’t lacking for your own excitement,” he retorted. “Let me see it.”

“It’s _fine_ ,” she snapped, batting him away again and folding her arms across her chest sulkily. “I already put bacta on it, so sit down before you fall down, Farmboy.”

He scowled darkly but straightened enough to walk around her to his seat. “What did you do, Mara?”

“Dinner with Shada.”

Sirca watched the two of them with interest, happy to be forgotten for the moment.

The Jedi’s eyes widened comically, his jaw dropping in an unmistakable _you have to be kidding_ expression. “Don’t tell me you went to the _Noodle Ditch_.”

Jade smiled coyly.

“ _Mara._ ”

“You said not to tell you.”

“You promised you wouldn’t swoop race without me!”

“Says the man who went rhakghoul hunting _without me_ ,” she shot back, her voice rising.

“I didn’t know they were going to be rhakghouls!”

“You couldn’t have pulled out your comm when you figured it out?”

“I was _trying_ not to get _killed_!”

“Whatever, Farmboy.”

“At least I didn’t leave you out intentionally.” The Jedi tipped his head slightly, staring at Jade with a disconcertingly intent expression. “It’s not like you to not keep your word.”

Jade didn’t so much as twitch, though Sirca was certain he’d have been squirming violently in her position. Apparently, however, she was not entirely immune to Skywalker’s attention.

“If you must know,” she sniffed, haughtily, staring intently at her mug as she lifted it, effectively hiding most of her face, “I didn’t race. We just went to the afterparty.”

Inexplicably, Skywalker beamed. His whole body relaxed. “The after-brawl, you mean,” he teased, open affection in his tone. “Who won?”

“We did, obviously. Shut the whole place down early, actually. I _did_ have to be on time here, this morning. A woman needs her beauty sleep, you know.” 

The Jedi’s eyes flicked to Sirca as if just remembering he was there. Quickly, Davip fixed his face into what he hoped came off as polite neutrality. Just because he’d been gaping like a burra fish didn’t mean he wanted the Jedi to catch him doing it.

“Agent Davip,” Skywalker said, clearing his throat. “I apologize for setting us behind. Please, don’t let me hold things up any longer. Where were you?”

“Uh….” Sirca looked down at his notes, then back at Skywalker, flustered. Did the Jedi _know_ there were lewd movies made about his life? Did he know Trader Jade had well-defined opinions on them? Oh, gods – what if he _didn’t_? “T-trader Jade was discussing her routine. In prison.”

“I was explaining,” Jade spoke up with unmistakable relish, “that the inmates at Ruuma II were particularly _ardent_ fans of Cristior Faraday’s work.”

Davip watched the Jedi’s face completely drain of blood and then turn an unnerving shade of grey. He nearly asked if the man was all right before remembering at the last moment that humans of Skywalker’s skin tone sometimes looked grey to his aquatic eyes when they were flushing. Was… was the Jedi Master _blushing_?

“You didn’t tell me -.”

“That the prison played _Zombie Hookers_ at breakfast every morning?”

Skywalker’s eyes fell half shut in a pained expression. “That’s… not so bad,” he managed.

Jade’s eyes were brighter than Sirca had ever seen them when she continued, “ _Nuns_ was lunch time.”

“I see.” Skywalker sounded strangled.

“ _Cheerleaders_ was dinner,” she added cheerfully. “I didn’t get to see them all every day – escaping, you understand. But I saw them all at least twice.”

“Of course, you did,” the Jedi said faintly.

 “I never missed the bedtime showing, though. That was the best.” Jade gave a theatrical little sigh. “They played _Training_ just before lights out.”

Skywalker gave a low, mortified moan and rubbed at his face with his hands. “Mara -.”

Jade shot him a sly sideways glance. “If you’d _told_ me that’s what advanced Jedi training looked like -.”

“You know it’s not.”

Jade didn’t reply. Instead, she picked up her caff, paying excessively undue attention to the lid of her mug as she sipped from it. Slowly.

Sirca watched the Jedi blink. Then blink again. Then swivel his head to stare at his companion like a griff in the headlights. “Seriously?” he asked, in an awed, dumbstruck sort of tone.

Sirca’s snout furrowed in confusion. “I beg your pardon, Master Skywalker?”

The Jedi started, violently, his skin turning profusely greyer. “Uh – nothing. I’m sorry. I’m… extremely tired.” Skywalker stared at the table in front of him with a strange, stunned look.

“It wasn’t just the entertainment,” Jade spoke up abruptly and, Sirca thought, more loudly than necessary. “Ruuma II actually had a lot going for it, as far as vacations go.” 

Davip glanced down at his data pad. “I’m sorry?” he asked. “I – perhaps my records are inaccurate. They indicate that, aside from meal times and one hour in the “yard” each day you spent the entirety of your time in a solitary cell.” 

“ _Exactly,”_ Jade said, leaning over the table to fix that unnerving stare that she had on him. “I had a room to myself and no one disturbed me for 18 hours a day. I bribed the guards to let me have my data pad so I made it through almost all of the recreational research I’d brought along. No drama, creatures, or forced time-wasting anywhere.”

Davip blinked his large, bulbous eyes slowly. “I do not believe I am familiar with the term ‘recreational research’.”

“That’s because it’s not a thing,” Skywalker sighed, massaging his temple.  

“Recreational research is non-work-related self-improvement and emergency mitigation preparation,” Jade countered, emphatically. She jabbed the tip of a finger into the worn table-top for emphasis on every other word. She slanted her eyes at Luke pointedly. “Maybe if _some_ people, did _more_ of it -.”

“How did you bribe the guards?” He interrupted, turning keen eyes on her.

Sirca had thought the Jedi had recovered from whatever had startled him, but this lapse in his usually impeccable manners suggested otherwise. Strange.

“The usual way,” Jade shrugged.

“ _Which_ usual way?” Skywalker pressed, intently.  

Sirca watched the Trader’s eyes slide down the Jedi and then back up again. 

“Helmet moonshine.”

“Really?”

“Ah…” Davip ventured, timidly, “That is… not in the report. Is it a euphemism for something?”

It occurred to him only after the question was out his mouth that it might, in fact, be a euphemism for something he really _didn’t_ want to hear about in detail. 

“It’s just what it sounds like,” Skywalker said, matter-of-factly. “Rot-gut liquor made from whatever’s available in buckets, pails, helmets – anything that will hold it while it ferments.” He eyed the Trader again. “How did you get the moonshine, Jade?”

“I _stole_ it,” she announced, a smug grin spreading across her face. 

For absolutely no reason Sirca could figure out, the Jedi grinned. Merkak had been right. Jedi _were_ crazier than Bothans.

Looking down, Sirca examined his notes. Then the report. Then his notes again.

“Trader Jade,” he said after a moment in his most formally polite voice. “Just to clarify: you _stole_ illicit alcohol of unknown provenance from dangerous criminals, and used it to _bribe their guards_ so that you could… read self-improvement books?”

“Exactly.”

Sirca reached into his bag, groping for more pain relievers. “And you maintain that this is the least terrible of all of the vacations you have thus far been forced to take?”

“Yes.”

Sirca’s hand closed on the empty package. Somewhere between the “recreational research” and “helmet moonshine” he’d unwittingly consumed the remainder of the box. He had a sudden, irrational desire to drink lunch.

“I… I believe that is everything I need to know for this session.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cristor Faraday's name was borrowed/adapted from JadeLotus's work.  
> The idea of Luke and Mara swoop racing (with ewoks!) was borrowed from Celinamarniss's works.


	5. Yavin IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What can you tell me about this vacation, Trader Jade?”  
> “It was atrocious.”  
> Uh huh. “I see.”  
> “Oh, and I was subsequently forbidden to set foot on Yavin IV without Skywalker as my personal escort at all times.”  
> “Why?”  
> “Classified.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried something a little different with this chapter. Let me know what you think!  
> (Luke and Mara will be back to center stage in person next week to finish us off!)

Sirca spent his lunch break running down to the tiny, overpriced store in the lobby to buy more stomach soothers, stronger headache medicine, a small package of bland crackers, and a bulb of water. He then tucked himself in an out-of-the-way corner to eat the crackers and half the medicine, praying it would kick in before he had to go back upstairs.

When he reluctantly made his way back up to the meeting room, Jade was once again alone at the table.

“I sent Skywalker home,” she announced. “He needed to sleep.”

Sirca’s heart sank. “I see. That was… probably wise.” Regrettable, but certainly in the Jedi’s best interest, if not his own. Sirca sank into his seat and reached unenthusiastically for his data pad.

“There was no reason to keep him,” Jade said, waving a dismissive hand. “We won’t be here long.”

“We won’t?”

The Trader looked amused. “Not unless you’ve gotten a top-secret security clearance along with your lunch.”

Confused, Davip looked at his datapad. He hadn’t actually gotten a chance to read the notes for this afternoon’s session yet and, when he flipped through them, he discovered that more than half of the report had been redacted. “Oh.”

“This would be two years ago?” he asked, skimming what little information had not been blacked out.

“Yes.” Jade took a gulp of coffee and leaned back in her chair, swinging her booted feet up onto the table.

“You went to Borundi Peak, on Yavin IV?” Sirca’s brow furrowed. “A dormant volcano.” That didn’t sound safe at all.

“I wanted to catch some Harrower woolamanders,” the Trader explained. “I needed the bones for a set of Reinforced Insulated Sheath Armor.” 

“What did you need armor for?” Davip asked, quizzically.

“Personal reasons.”

“Oh. Okay.” Sirca looked at the reams of blacked out text on his screen. “There is something here about crystal snakes and stintarils? Those are both very dangerous, are they not?”  

“Nasty buggers,” Jade agreed. “Crystal snakes are venomous and stintarils are constantly ravenous. They’ll attack and eat anything they think they can get their jaws into. They tried to herd me into some ruins temple on the north side of the peak." She rolled her eyes. "Real subtle."

Sirca felt his skin crawl. “Why would they do that?”

“That’s classified.”

He blinked. “Ah… what did you do?”

“Also classified.” Jade examined her short, unpainted nails casually.

Sirca went back to the datapad. Found a whole, if unhelpful, sentence. “There was a fire?”

“Several. Not my fault.” 

He tried deciphering another half-missing sentence several pages later. “Something was destroyed?”

“Yes.”

Davip flipped through ten more useless pages before peering across the table at Jade. “What _can_ you tell me about this vacation, Trader Jade?”

“It was _atrocious_.”

Uh huh. “I see.”

“Oh, and I was subsequently forbidden to set foot on Yavin IV without Skywalker as my personal escort at all times.”

“ _Why?_ ”

She shrugged. “Classified.”

Right. “I… believe we are done. Thank you, Trader Jade.”

Without any attempt at niceties, Jade dropped her feet to the floor, grabbed her mug and strode out.

Sirca gathered his things and headed for the lift. How was he supposed to work under these conditions? As the lift began to drop, a niggling idea formed in the back his head.

_No,_ he told it. _Absolutely not._ Dear gods, now he was talking to himself. He wondered if Jedi-induced trauma was covered by his health plan. It _was_ work-related.

The idea kept nagging.

By the time he reached the lobby, he’d nearly talked himself out of it all the same. In the time it took to make it back down to his office’s sublevel, the idea had rebounded into a stranglehold. Without stopping to talk to anyone, he went directly to the musty little cell on the corner of the floor that passed for Merkak’s office. He didn’t even knock – just walked in and shut the door behind him. The tiny transparisteel windows were already shaded to maximum, emphasizing the space’s cave-like atmosphere.

“Sirca!” Merkak’s long fingers jabbed rapidly at his computer’s controls, no doubt exiting out of a series of screens Sirca was certain he didn’t want to see any more than his coworker wished him to glimpse them.

“I need you to hack a report for me.” Sirca dropped his pile of data pads atop a scattered array of flimsy that covered every inch of the desk not taken up by computer equipment. “It’s important.”

Merkak scowled and spun his seat to face him. “If Kenuun put you up to this -,” he started.

“She didn’t.” Sirca shoved the redacted report across the desk. “I need to know what this says. _All_ of it.” 

The twi’lek raised an eyebrow but pulled the pad toward himself.

Sirca saw the moment his interest caught and blew straight into a full-fledged conflagration.

“Whoa.”

_“Exactly.”_

Merkak’s fingers were already flying across his control surface. “This that crazy Jedi thing you were working on?”

“Yes.” Sirca inched around the piles of unidentifiable spare parts, precariously stacked manuals, and towers of data discs, sticks and cubes until he could look over the other man’s shoulder. “This afternoon’s session lasted about 2 standard minutes because the interviewee couldn’t tell me anything – except that she’s been _banned from a planet_ without an authorized escort.”

“They can do that?”

“Apparently.”

There was silence for a minute or two while the twi’lek worked. Then, “Got it!” He squinted at the screen. “Most of it anyway. Wow – there are multiple levels of encryption here! Okay, let’s see. Looks like your interviewee went to Yavin IV without notifying anyone or going through any controlled airspace. Landed in the middle of nowhere near… a volcano?”

Sirca leaned over closer to the screen. “She said she wanted some kind of wooly thing.”

“Oh! There! A woolamander. Ugh - _ugly_.” Merkak wrinkled his nose. “Please tell she wasn't looking for a pet." 

"She wanted to make armor out of its bones." 

Merkak glowered at him. "Very funny."

"I'm serious!" 

"Sure you are, man. Anyway, uh, looks like she ran into some kind of invisible snake - invisible snakes? What kind of planet _is_ this?"

"Jedi," Sirca reminded him. 

"Uh... so, there were also... mutant rats? Being controlled by a Sith.” Merkak craned his neck back to look at Sirca. “What’s a Sith?”

Davip shrugged. “How would I know?”

“Aren’t you talking to her?”

Sirca couldn’t quite keep the dourness out of his tone. “That’s less helpful than you think.”

Merkak eyed him oddly but returned to reading. “So the Sith-thing tries to eat her – wait, _eat_ her? Must be some kind of creature. That or the decryption program mistranslated. Anyhow, a Jedi named Skywalker – wait, _the_ Skywalker?”

“Focus!” Sirca demanded, impatiently. “Master Skywalker showed up and then what?”

“They… the program _has_ to be malfunctioning. This can’t be right.” Merkak tapped a some keys, irritably.

“Tell me!”

“They set the jungle on fire,” Merkak said, incredulously. “And set the volcano off.”

Of course they had. At this point, Sirca couldn't even honestly claim surprise. Jade had probably made a flamethrower from her dinner fork, bedroll, and a held-held luma lamp or something. Still... setting off a volcano? “How?”

“I don’t know!” Merkak gestured at his screen. “All kinds of stuff is still blacked out!”

“Well can’t you do another hack or something?”

“I can try.” The tech was already typing furiously. “Maybe if I -.”

Both of them jumped when Sirca’s comm shrilled. Hadn’t he silenced it when he got to work this morning? Even hungover, he couldn’t believe he’d have forgotten. He fumbled for it.

_Text message. Source unavailable._

Frowning, Sirca flicked the tiny screen open.

_Curiosity killed the tooka._

He yelped. “Close it! Oh, gods, close it _now_!”

“Why? What’s wrong?”

“She knows! She knows we’re looking and she got my number somehow and we’re going to _die_ -.”

“You gave a client your private number?!” Merkak spluttered, frantically punching at buttons.

“No, _of course not!_ ” Sirca snapped the comm link shut and shoved it in his pocket, scrambling around the desk. “But I know it’s her. Oh, gods. I – I have to go. This never happened.”

“Never,” Merkak agreed, fervently. “You weren’t here.”

With one last panicked nod, Sirca fled.


	6. Gastrula

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _It is the unequivocal finding of this investigation that it is in the best interest of the New Republic and the galaxy at large that Trader Jade be awarded the requested waiver exempting her from Republic Statute 759.3._

Sirca’s legs shook as he approached the meeting room in a cold sweat. He’d barely slept all night, certain that a squad of Guardian Police Droids would come pounding on his door at any moment to arrest him for breaking into classified files. None had. None had been waiting in his office that morning when he’d crept in either. That could only mean one thing: Trader Jade wanted to kill him herself.

He heard voices as he approached the open door and hovered outside, anxiously.

“You move like an old man, Skywalker.”

“I’m _sore_ ,” the Jedi returned. Bafflingly, he sounded distinctly _pleased_.

“Hhmm.”

Sirca blinked a few times. Was Trader Jade _purring_ at the Jedi Master? He couldn’t have gotten so little sleep that he was hallucinating, could he?

“Don’t think I don’t know you are, too.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Jade sniffed. “And neither does Agent Davip. _Do you agent?_ ” she called.

Sirca’s heart stopped. He swallowed heavily and twisted his mouth into something he hoped approximated a smile as he edged inside and then darted toward his seat, putting the table between himself and the others. It was false comfort, he knew, but he took it anyway. “Ah, good – good morning!”

“Good morning,” Master Skywalker smiled. “After today, we’ll be out of your hair. You must be pleased about that.”

“As long as I get my voucher,” Jade qualified.

“I’m sure that won’t be a problem,” Sirca assured her, fervidly. “This – today – is just a technicality, really. I can’t imagine my supervisors won’t grant you an exemption as soon as they review my report, even with just what we have covered so far. Should we get started?” He shuffled his things, scooting his chair in, eager to be into and through the day’s material as quickly as possible.

“Of course.” Master Skywalker attempted to trade his smile for a serious expression and didn’t quite manage it. “Last year, Mara attempted to spend her vacation on Sullust.”

“A business contact of mine invited me to test a new navigation system SoroSuub has been developing for its 3000 series of personal luxury yachts.”

“Mara’s ship, the _Jade’s Fire_ is a 3000 series,” Skywalker interjected. “But one-of-a-kind. The modifications she’s made put it lightyears ahead of anything else in its class.”

Jade side-eyed the Jedi with a quirk of her lips. “Wa kaae alay che sanog doth tee fa, Skywalker?”

“Tee whao fa joday,” the Jedi shot back.

Skywalker lifted his eyebrows in what Sirca assumed was some kind of challenge. He had no idea what language they were speaking or what could possibly be so entertaining or – dare he think it? - _playful_ about navigation systems and ship mods. But if this week had taught him anything it was that he was much better off just not asking.

Master Skywalker turned back to him. “Forgive me. As I was saying, Mara went to Sullust so they could install the test system. They asked her to do a run to Gastrula as the first step of the process. She landed in Bomewright to spend the night before a planned meeting with SoroSuub techs the next morning.”

Sirca didn’t even bother to look at his notes. “You didn’t make the meeting?” he guessed.

“I was there,” Trader Jade said, pursing her lips in displeasure. “My contacts were not. Are you familiar with Biscuit Baron, Agent Davip?”

Skywalker laughed outright. “Mara, _everyone_ who doesn’t live on petrified ration bars knows what Biscuit Baron is.”

The Trader drawled a string of words in that same strange language. Her tone struck Sirca as somewhere between rude and threatening but the Jedi seemed unperturbed, attempting again to swallow a grin and failing utterly. Sirca doubled down on his resolve not to ask. He was _positive_ he didn’t want to know.

“Anyway,” the Jedi said, “when she woke up the spaceport was on lockdown.”

“And Skywalker was at my door,” Jade added, glowering at him. “At _0500_.”

“I brought caff,” he defended, cheerfully. “Black as The Maw and thick as barkmeal – just the way you like it.”

Jade harrumphed. “Bribery,” she accused.

“Only a little.”

“He’d made an emergency landing in the middle of the night,” she informed Davip, disapprovingly. “Because he ran into some pirates on what was _supposed_ to be a routine trip and fried his nosy little astromech. He was hoping I’d have spare parts he could borrow to fix him.”

“And you did,” Skywalker pointed out. “She cannibalized them off the Veeone she never uses,” he explained.

“How did you know she was there?” Sirca asked, curiously. “If you were not scheduled to meet?”

“If Mara’s on planet, I can feel her as soon as I hit atmosphere. She has a very distinctive sense in the Force.”

“He saw my ship,” Jade countered, rolling her eyes. “In the hangar bay when he landed.”

“Which I was looking for because I felt you,” Skywalker maintained, then directed himself back to Davip. “So I got a map of the port, looked up which hotel room was the most defensible and headed in that direction. Once I got close she was easy to find by feel. And, since I brought caff and she needed something to do until the lockdown was over, we actually had a very pleasant morning.”

Dissembling and rebuilding droids with a freshly awoken, under-caffeinated Jade sounded like the diametric opposite of pleasant to Davip. There was apparently no accounting for the Jedi’s strange taste in friends. 

Jade snorted. “Until the west end of the spaceport collapsed.”

“Collapsed?” Sirca asked, startled.

“Yes,” Skywalker’s face fell. “I’d been told the lockdown was a precaution because there was some kind of disturbance at another spaceport nearby and that it wouldn’t last long. So I hadn’t really paid attention. But we’d just about finished getting Artoo back online when I got the sense that something was terribly wrong -.”

“And then all the alarms went off,” Jade finished with a huff. “Skywalker went running off to help, so of course I had to go make sure he didn’t get himself killed.”

What she thought she could possibly do besides make things worse Sirca didn’t know, but he kept that opinion to himself and nodded politely for her to continue.

“By the time we got to the center of the spaceport, the blob had eaten its way out of the west end and was starting on the south bay,” Skywalker said with a grimace.

“I’m sorry, the what?”

“The blob.” The Jedi looked at him curiously. “You didn’t hear about the tragedy at Gastrula?”

“Uh… no?”

“Oh.” Skywalker seemed momentarily at a loss.

“I told you Biscuit Baron would cover it up!” Jade crowed. “Corporate slime. Look, you’ve had a Jolly Meal, right?”

“Yes,” Sirca said, honestly. “Hasn’t everyone?”

“No, actually,” the Trader frowned. “Because on _some_ planets the atmosphere reacts counterproductively with the preservatives in the bantha meat.”

“By ‘reacts counterproductively’,” Skywalker clarified, “she means there’s a chemical reaction that turns bantha burgers into giant, semi-sentient amorphous blobs that consume everything in their path.”

Sirca squinted. “You’re not serious.”

“I wish I wasn’t,” Skywalker shook his head, ruefully.

He was fairly certain Jedi Masters weren’t allowed to lie, but Davip couldn’t help looking down at his report anyway. This one, too, had large chunks redacted. But it confirmed Skywalker’s story clearly enough. A giant blob, engendered from a limp, greasy bantha patty smuggled in by a Nikto crew ignorant of the danger had rampaged through the Aptright Spaceport and then plowed across all the terrain and water masses in its way to begin eating through Bomewright.

“We tried everything we could think of to contain it,” Skywalker said. “Nothing touched it. Blasters, lightsabers, chemicals – we tried everything we could get our hands on.”

“We barely avoided becoming Jolly Meals ourselves – _several times_ ,” Jade put in, annoyed.

“A portion of the ceiling came down at one point.” Master Skywalker’s face took on a deeply concerned expression at the memory. “Mara was caught by a falling catwalk – her ankle,” he glanced at Jade. “We didn’t know at the time, but it was fractured, badly. She wouldn’t leave me, though.”

“It wasn’t like I had a choice,” the Trader groused, grumpily. “You’d have been _eaten_ and I’d have been the one who had to tell Leia.”

Skywalker gazed at her with open affection. Jade pointedly ignored him.

“You got away,” Sirca prompted.

“We tried to help with evacuation efforts until the blob made its way to the east hangar,” the Jedi nodded. “At that point, there was nothing left for us to do. We headed for our ships, but my x-wing had been damaged as the chaos. I couldn’t fly it out and I didn’t want to leave Mara anyway – not when she was injured so badly. So Artoo and I hitched a ride on the _Fire_ and we towed my ship out with a tractor beam.”

“While being chased by an all-consuming blob,” Sirca clarified.

“While being chased by an all-consuming blob,” Skywalker confirmed.

Jade muttered something uncomplimentary about the Jedi’s astromech and it was apparently his turn to ignore her because he gave no acknowledgement even though he must have heard her. 

“What happened to the blob?” Sirca paged through his report. “My records indicate that you returned safely to Sullust, but nothing else.”

“It ate Gastrula,” Jade said bluntly.

“Excuse me?” Sirca cocked his head, thinking he’d misheard.

“It ate the planet,” she repeated, scowling. “And then died when it ran out of atmosphere. The death toll was never completely nailed down, but it was estimated to be in the billions.”

“That… is _horrible_.”

“Tragic,” Skywalker agreed, solemnly. “We’ve since learned the only way to kill a Biscuit Baron blob creature is to saturate it in the company’s proprietary Blue Sauce. But even if we’d known then, there wouldn’t have been enough time to get the necessary quantity from Sullust to Gastrula without a Super Star Destroyer to carry it.”

“I hope your records reflect that I spent several days in bacta,” Jade glared at Davip. “And the remainder of my would-be vacation doing paperwork – not the interesting, profitable kind I’d been planning on, either. _Legal_ paperwork that I loathed every minute of.”

“I will make sure that it does,” Davip promised, seriously.

* * *

 

That afternoon, Sirca barricaded himself in his office. Long past the scheduled end of his shift he labored to craft his report. It was impossible to overstate the struggle of adequately portraying the gross danger Mara Jade presented to the galaxy if she continued to take vacations while still maintaining a veneer of professionalism.

_It is the unequivocal finding of this investigation that it is in the best interest of the New Republic and the galaxy at large that Trader Jade be awarded the requested waiver exempting her from Republic Statute 759.3._

_Over the course of the last five years, Trader Jade’s government-mandated vacations have directly led or contributed to the destruction of billions of credits in commercial infrastructure and private property, the loss of priceless cultural and historical artifacts and sites, and the wholesale destruction of a formerly thriving planet._

_Trader Jade willingly and without coercion volunteers to forfeit her right to the time and compensation guaranteed to her under the statute in question and waives all future right to bring suit or complaint against her employer(s), the New Republic or any other party on this and all related issues._

Bleary-eyed with exhaustion, Sirca attached the waiver he’d taken the liberty of filling out to the message and hit “send.” Only then, with the safe future of the galaxy assured, did he trudge home, fall face-first onto his bed, and pass out.

* * *

 

Two days later, Sirca opened the locked door of his office to find Mara Jade lounging in his chair.

“T-trader Jade!” He looked around, panicked. He was a few minutes early this morning and what few colleagues were already in the underground warren of offices were, at best, half-awake and shambling about their own offices, deep in their own worlds. He’d have to outright scream to bring help. Knowing what he now did about Jade, though, he’d probably be dead and stuffed in a file drawer before he ever got his mouth open.

“Agent Davip,” Jade said. Her tone was cheerful but her smile screamed danger.

“C-can I help you… with, um, something?” Davip hovered in the doorway, unable to convince his feet to take him any closer.

“Perhaps,” Jade twirled a stylus between her fingers and cocked her head with the lazy ease of a jungle predator. “Are you aware that my waiver is being denied?”

“What?!” Sirca gaped and spluttered, “that’s not possible! I was most explicit -.” He gulped. “That came out wrong.”

Jade twirled the stylus again. “Hmm,” she agreed. “I just thought you should know,” she said, coolly, sharp green eyes fixed on him, “because if that decision doesn’t get reversed, I’ll have to take vacation next week.” Her eyes narrowed. “And I’ve decided to spend it here.”

“On Coruscant?” Davip squeaked, heart pounding.

“No,” her voice was clipped. “ _Here._ In this building. Every. Day. For a week.” She rose fluidly and Sirca fell back, his head spinning with nightmarish scenarios. Jade leaned close as she passed him, her breath warm on his ear. “See you soon, _Agent_.”

* * *

 

Sirca ambushed Merkak the instant he walked in the door to his office. “You have to help me!”

“Whoa, slow down!” the twi’lek groused. “What are you on about?”

“WE ARE GOING TO DIE.” Sirca grabbed his friend by the shoulders and pushed him bodily toward his work station without letting him take off his coat or put down his bag. “The office will get plundered by rhakghouls – or ogres! We’ll be overrun by hive rats! Eaten by rogue taozin! Someone will find another star destroyer in some underground cavern and blast it out into space _right_ _through the building_!”

Merkak dropped into his seat and squinted at Sirca. “Are you on spice? Did you join a doomsday cult? Seriously, man!”

“Director Kenuun is going to deny Mara Jade’s vacation waiver and she’s going to spend next week _here,_ ” Sirca ranted on the verge of hysteria. “Pull it up! Read the report!”

Grumbling and shooting him strange looks, Merkak grudgingly did as he was told. Sirca watched his jaw progressively drop.

“This is… real?” He asked, dumbfounded.

_“Yes,”_ Sirca said adamantly. “And if we don’t do something, we’re all crinked.” He flinched a little at the curse word when it came out of his mouth – he wasn’t accustomed to speaking so crudely, but this was an _emergency_.

“What can we do?” Merkak asked, wide-eyed. “Have you talked to Kenuun?”

“There’s no point,” Sirca shook his head, decisively. “If she read the report and still turned down the waiver, there’s no reasoning with her – everything was in there. Besides, you know her – if we tell her Jade will vacation here, she’ll take it as a threat. Give us the whole “don’t negotiate with terrorists” line. No, we’re going to fix this ourselves. We’re going to forge the waiver.”

“That’s _illegal_ ,” Merkak reminded him.

“Okay,” Davip said, viscously. “She can sit _in here_ for a week then. I’m sure she’d be quite comfortable in your guest chair.”

“On second thought,” Merkak spun his chair around. “One forged waiver, coming right up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Luke and Mara's flirting in Huttese translates to:  
>  _A little late for flattery isn't it?_  
>  _Not if it works._
> 
> [In case it wasn't clear, the implication of their flirting here is that after their exchanges in ch.4 Mara spent the night at Skywalker's place experimenting with of all her favorite things from _Training of the Jedi_ and they both enjoyed it (and each other) thoroughly.]


End file.
